After South Married North
by misselizathornton
Summary: A collection of one-shots of conversations between Margaret and John after their marriage. Rated M for later chapters.
1. Forgiveness

This is my first story written for North and South. I hope to write a collection of one-shots of conversations between Margaret and John after their marriage. The book and the series made me hungry to know things about their married life together and these will be my own headcanons between the two. Please enjoy!

* * *

In the days following their wedding, Margaret takes to waking up unnaturally early.

When she wakes up the morning after the wedding, she believes it's due to her surroundings. The larger bed, the fluffier pillow against her head, the presence of a man next to her…a pleasant soreness between her legs.

She blushes to recall the pleasurable whimpers and moans she made just some hours ago in that very bed, something she could truthfully say she had never conceived up for her wedding night, but now coveted greatly. Turning her head, she smiles to find her dear John (for dear he would always be now) fast asleep, his head facing her, his hand resting close to where she was sleeping, a peaceful look upon his countenance.

Watching him for a brief moment, her heart fills with such a deep ache of love, she can't help but to kiss his hand gently, bringing herself closer to him. There is a small part of her that still cannot process that she's finally here with him, that she is still not pining away in London, in fears that she would never see John again. Unwillingly, her mind drifts back to those London moments, how dark her thoughts were then. She recalls nights filled with bitter tears, self-loathing thoughts, and the pain that she had lost the love and respect of the only man she would ever adore.

Her heart feeling suddenly heavy, she curls herself around her husband, willing the thoughts to disperse, and slowly finds sleep once again.

* * *

The next few nights, she despairs to find herself continuing this pattern. During the day, her new responsibilities and the joys of married life take up her mind. Mrs. Thornton, slowly but surely warming up to her, shows her the routines of the home. She visits John at midday for lunch, and the happiness on his face when she comes through the door could sometimes render her speechless.

Dinner is an insightful time, with most conversation surrounding the mill and its future. She listens admiringly as John tells her about his work and he in turn is vastly interested in what her thoughts on the matter are. This night, he's not wearing his cravat and has rolled up his sleeves after a day of working more outside of his office. She can't help the burning of her desire watching him sit there in such a disheveled state. When she excuses herself to make her way to bed, she doesn't miss the darkening of John's eyes as she gives him a look or Mrs. Thornton's eyeroll at the display.

If she was embarrassed at all at being caught, John ends that worry when he enters her bedchamber, hunger deep in his eyes, and kisses her like she is his last breath of air.

"You drive me absolutely mad," he whispers against her lips, echoing her exact thoughts. His hand slips into her nightgown, and there's really only one thought in her mind for a time.

Eventually, they drift to sleep and it's during this time when her heart's troubles float back to the surface. Harsh words she once threw at him ring out in her head, even in sleep.

 _"I suppose I should expect no less from someone in trade!"_

 _"I don't wish to possess you, I wish to marry you because I love you!"_

It feels like a punch, the memory of her words and the heartbreak written on his face. And of course, his own words, that hurt her more than she would admit.

 _"I hope you realize any foolish passion for you on my part is entirely over."_

God, how those words haunt her. She deserved them to hear them, after all her prejudice, cruelty, and her refusal to tell the truth

And what a perfect punishment for her. The only man she cares for now loathed her.

Waking up, she's surprised to find her eyes wet with tears. With a hesitant look at a sleeping John, she stands up, slipping into her nightgown, and walking over to gaze out her window. She realizes a simple thing, looking down upon the quiet mill.

They've forgiven each other, but she still has not forgiven herself.

* * *

She does not know how long she's standing there, but soon she hears the rustling of sheets and a soft groan from the bed.

"Margaret?"

Turning, her eyes soften to see John shifting up in the bed, the moonlight hitting his bare skin. She would blush if she was not in such a mood.

"I had trouble sleeping," she tries to say in her assuring manner. Despite the strength in her voice, she knows her ever observant husband hears the sadness edged in her tone and she has to give a small smile as he wordlessly gets out of bed, pulls on his trousers, and makes his way to her.

He wraps his arms around her and she does not hesitate for a moment to lean into him, allowing herself to be comforted. Could she even begin to describe how close she always wants to be with him? She wonders if other married women in the world felt like, this raw need and adoration for their husbands. She hopes so. John had once told her that he loved her like no man had loved woman before. Now she believes that if a wife out there loves her husband half of how she feels for John, then they must be very happy indeed.

"Will you tell me what's really wrong?" he asks softly, planting a soft kiss to the top of her head. His hand comes up to cup her cheek, gently turning her head up so he could meet her eyes. He tries to hide it, but she sees a little flicker of fear in his eyes and it breaks her. She was so cruel to him and even now, he still clutches on to the possibility that she regrets this decision to be with him.

Wanting to reassure him even in a small way, she rises up on her toes and kisses him, smiling when she feels his arms wrap around her a little tighter.

"You won't distract me, love," he laughs against her lips, pulling away softly. The flicker in his eyes is gone and she feels a little at ease.

He must feel her hesitation, because he brushes her cheek once more. "You can tell me anything, Margaret. I promised you that on the train and I still mean it now."

Memories of their reunion on the platform brings a smile to her face, although she feels worse knowing that despite all that joy, she still feeds into the memories of their judgements.

He's still looking at her, patiently waiting and she takes his hands in hers.

"It's…I don't precisely know how to say it," she pauses for a moment, collecting her thoughts. "John, I haven't forgiven myself."

His face doesn't change, but she can detect his confusion from such a statement.

"The way we once spoke to one another. The cruel things I said to you. I can't seem to get move past them.,,and…"

"And?" He prompts, no judgment in his voice, although she is uncertain if that will remain the same once she speaks again.

"What you said to me, that day you asked if I had any explanation for my behavior…" She can't bring herself to say the words, but the tightening of his hands indicates he knows exactly what she's speaking of.

"Forgive me, John, but sometimes those words keep rushing back into my head, as if they're trying to persuade me that you could still feel that way in your heart."

His jaw tightens and she aches knowing the memories she's bringing back to him. When he speaks his voice is soft, but pained.

"Margaret, you must know I never meant that. I was hurt, angry…jealous, but I never stopped loving you. I would take those words back in a moment if I could."

"I know you would," she responds, bringing his hand up to kiss it. She found she could easily reassure him of worries when she did that. He half-smiles, but quickly moves on to the other part of her confession.

"But Margaret, if you think I am holding you in contempt about your past words…"

"No, it's not that. It's like I said…it appears I may still hold contempt for myself."

He looks at here with a contemplative look upon his face, as if considering his response. In a hesitate voice, he responds, "Would it surprise you if I said I have been feeling a similar contempt?"

"Really?" She whispers, feeling a balance of ease and sadness that John should feel the same self-loathing.

He nods, with a self-deprecating smile. "The image of your face when I told you I was done with you is still fresh in my mind. Although I believe I was speaking to myself in a way…in a last effort to move on from you, I now wish I could go back and give myself a sharp punch for making you feel so helpless and despaired."

"It's like you said to me, John," she whispers, having moved closer to him again as he spoke. "I could not hold you in contempt for such a thing. I had lied to you and refused to tell you anything. You must not let that eat you alive."

She feels a soft laugh against her chest and looks up to see him slightly smiling once again. "It appears we both should be taking the other's advice on this subject."

She smiles back, thankful he is finding some humor for the both of them. His confession helps soften the ache in her heart.

"Maybe in time we will find the forgiveness we want. I do not know if it can be solved within the night."

"Probably not," he sighs, but there is a tone in his voice that she has come to associate with her husband's teasing nature. "We are two passionate and stubborn people, I fear we may have to often remind each other of the other's own worth and the love we have for one another."

His hand moves up to her shoulder and she has no doubt of where this is going.

"Indeed, although I fear I am not one for public displays of affections…most of the time that is," she blushes, thinking of their heated kisses on an open platform.

"Lucky for both of us, I am very partial to affection behind closed doors," he leans down, kissing her forehead, both her cheeks, and then a soft kiss on her lips. Still learning this side of herself, she ignores her hesitance and runs her hands up his chest, feeling the heat and strength of his body. She wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him in closer, opening her lips and allowing for a deeper kiss.

"I love you, Margaret. More than I could possible say," he whispers, trying to speak before they completely give in to each other.

"I love you, John," is all she can say back, too overwhelmed to say anything more, as he gently leads her to the bed with his hands on her waist.

As she loses herself to his caresses, she knows they will need to continue helping each other move on from the mistakes of the past. That night is a revelation…that he suffers too.

She vows to help him heal and find the strength to forgive herself, and as he whispers sweet nothings into her ear, she knows he's making a similar promise to himself as well.

* * *

Both of these characters suffer from their own self-loathing in their own ways, and I believe they would have had to deal with that at some point in their marriage, especially early on.

If you feel inclined, leave a kudos and/or comment! I have some more ideas for what these two said and did after the credits rolled and the book ended. How I wish Gaskell had given us a sequel, but I hope I can fill in some small blanks!

(I have posted this on Archive of Our Own and a different category on FF, thus why it's possible you may already have seen this. I've moved my story on FF to this category as I realized my chapters will better fit for the Book category of North and South.)


	2. About Henry

Apologies on a late update to this collection! I have this chapter and the next chapter already written, but I have not had a chance to sit down and upload it here. Like the last chapter, this chapter already has been up on the Archive website. I will upload the next chapter in the next week or two. Thank you for reading and for your reviews!

As a reminder, each chapter is not necessarily chronological.

* * *

"Was it Henry?"

They're spending a relaxing evening in the drawing room, she reading a novel, and he glancing over the newspaper he never got around to reading in the morning. John works so much that he may be the only man in Milton reading his morning paper in the evening. Mrs. Thornton (despite being the new Mrs. Thornton, Margaret still cannot think of her as Hannah or even mother yet) was spending one of evenings with Fanny, a practice she had taken up soon after her daughter's marriage.

Margaret looks up from her book to see her husband intently looking at her, newspaper laying forgotten on his lap. She wonders just how long he's been studying her.

"What?" She not so eloquently responds, and he slightly huffs, his eyes narrowing as he contemplates her.

"It was Henry who had proposed to you first, was it not?"

Surprised, she nods, wondering at such a start to a conversation. "Yes…"

He slightly nods, as if confirming a suspicion. "I had wondered," he says, as if putting an end to the conversation, turning back to his paper.

It starts and ends so quickly, Margaret is left baffled, staring at John and watching as he looks just a little too hard at his paper.

Just when she goes to question him, he seems to overcome some sort of hesitation, as he forces himself to face her again.

"How did he propose?"

She can't help her surprise. "Why on Earth do you want to know about Henry's proposal to me?

"A man is always a little jealous and curious of men who had the chance of their wife's love before them…and besides you once implied you had been blunt with past marriage proposals."

" _I'm... I'm sorry... to be so blunt. I've not learnt how to... how to refuse... how to respond when a... when a man talks to me as you just have."_

Slightly cringing at having to remember that speech of hers, she quickly moves to rectify one part of his comment.

"Henry was the only one who proposed to me before you."

He appears visibility surprised by that. "Really?"

She stifles a laugh. "Do you mean to tell me you truly believe I did have…how did you put it, _have to disappoint so many men that offer me their heart_?"

His lips move ever so slightly, his tell-tale sign he's forcing down a smile. "Margaret, you're a beautiful and smart woman, it's more surprising you have not had multiple proposals from all sorts of smitten men."

Blushing, she's touched to know that John believes any man would want her, but she refuses to be distracted.

"I have to disappoint you, John. You and Henry were the only men who had the misfortune of proposing and facing the horrors of my refusals." An image of Mr. Bell and the revelation of his almost proposal comes into her mind, but she decides that's a conversation for another day. She's not quite sure how John would respond to that.

He rolls his eyes and suddenly seems to remember what he asked prior to her revelation.

"Well? Will you tell me how he proposed?"

There's an intense look in his eyes and she knows he won't let this question go, even if she were to ignore it now.

"Henry came to visit me in Helstone. It was sudden and there was no real reason for his visit…I should have realized something was amiss, but I had no reason to believe he cared for me. During that time, we were taking a walk one day and he began to ask me. After Edith's wedding in London, I had spoken to Henry about my perfect wedding, how I wanted to wake up on a sunny day, put on my best dress, and walk to the church. He brought that up as we walked by the Helstone church and was trying to say how he hoped I would want to do that with him. I stopped him before he could really finish."

She doesn't miss his sardonic smile at that.

"I tried to tell him that I cared for him like a friend and that I did like him, just not romantically. He asked if there was someone else…as if that was the only reason I'd say no," she adds a little bitterly. "I tried clarifying that I just did not want to marry and did not want to marry him. He left almost immediately after that, although I don't think he truly gave up. Edith kept encouraging him that one day I may love him."

She frowns slightly, remembering Henry and wishing she could had done more to push him away. She still believes she had been as honest as she could, but men like Henry never truly took no for an answer. Edith had not helped either, encouraging him at any moment she could. Unfortunately, it took falling for another man to finally put an end to his hopes for her. And that's why she appreciates John. Despite loving her regardless of everything, he never made her feel uncomfortable with any continued vows to win her. He had kept his promise on that awful day. _"Now I love, and will love. But do not be afraid of too much expression on my part."_

"I feel a bit better knowing you cut off his proposal as well," he smirks, letting her know he's teasing.

"It's something you two would have in common," she teases back, lightly laughing at the idea.

"Do you think you would have been with him some day…if we have never seen each other on that platform?" John asks, a thoughtful look on his face.

"No," she answers instantly. "After knowing you, I could never be with someone else." She flushes at how quickly she says it, but she can't imagine even considering marrying another person besides John. "When I left Milton, I had made up my mind to never marry actually. It was only you or no one."

She admits this quietly, still bad at pronouncing her affections out loud like this.

His gaze softening, John stands and crosses the floor to where she sits. He kneels in front of her, taking her face gently into his hands, his fingers light and tender against her skin.

"Even if we had not found each other on the platform, I still believe we would have found each other again," he comforts her gently, his eyes beseeching hers.

"You think so?" Her hand moves to cup his face, entranced by his belief in their inevitable reunion.

"Yes, my love. I would have found some way to see you again. I would have tried to remain indifferent in your presence, but I'm sure at some point, by either some look or speech of yours that could stir that flame in me, I would have broken at your feet and begged you to accept me," he turns and kisses her hand, like he's securing that idea like a promise.

For once, not bothering to care that they're not in the safety of their bedroom, she kisses him and enjoys the grin that spreads across his face.

"That reassures me," she whispers against his lips. "Now, do you have anymore Henry Lennox questions for me, or can we be quite done with this interview?"

He laughs, pulling her up so they're facing each other. "I believe so, Margaret," he smiles and brings her in for another kiss. 

* * *

Henry had to be brought up. He was the first man to propose to Margaret after all. I hope you book readers caught on to John's "what-if" here...I love Gaskell's ending with John's passionate declaration, so I wanted to pay homage there a little bit.

If inclined, please review or like!


	3. I Never Knew

Thank you for your patience! This story is now up-to-speed with the story on the archive. 

* * *

Margaret wakes up inexplicably happy. Perhaps in some ways, the situation is explainable…she's married to a man she loves, who loves her back, even after everything they had both been through. But as she slowly stretches her limbs and peaks over at her sleeping husband, it hits her that she can't even recall waking up feeling this happy. Maybe not since she was a younger girl.

Shifting up slowly in bed as to not wake John, she looks down at her body, curious as to how it appears to her now that she is no longer an untouched woman, but now a wife and a lover.

To the eye, it looks the same as ever, but looking over herself, every part of her seems to appear differently. She imagines she know sees a little of what John saw when he looked at her. Her breasts, that she once only viewed as annoyances and for feeding children, were rather perfectly round and made her figure lusher and enticing. Her stomach, a part of her body that she had never seriously cared about except to keep relatively small, was smooth, a little ticklish, and a perfect place for her husband to paint a canvas of kisses. Her legs, once only meant to be covered and hidden from the world, were long and meant to wrap around her husband and bring him closer.

Blushing at such thoughts, her curiosity is mostly heightened by that strange soreness located right between her legs. She's perplexed by how to define it. She only hesitates a moment before she reaches down to cup her womanhood, confirming that the soreness is only coming from a deeper point from inside her body. Although she's intrigued to explore this area of her body that until now she has dutifully stayed away from, she manages to pull her hand away.

Turning her sights away from her body, Margaret focuses on the source of her happiness and curiosity. He is still sleeping like a child and she hopes he can manage to stay asleep a little while longer. He told her the night before that the mill could wait in the morning, chuckling as she showed her appreciation with a kiss. Margaret smiles down at him, brushing his hair lovingly and wondering how she ever thought him not handsome, before deciding to explore about her new bedroom.

She first means to search for her nightgown, thrown somewhere by John as he had kissed her, but instead, finds his own. Hesitating for only a moment, she grabs his nightgown and throws it over her head, feeling a little reckless.

The large desk on the other side of the room draws her curiosity first. While John's desk at the mill is full of papers and notes, this desk has a surprising number of books piled around. Drawing near, she sees books of geography, business, and philosophy, but what truly warms her heart is the sight of her father's copy of Plato, the only book flipped open on the desk.

Not wanting to become too emotional as a rush of memories come to her, she moves towards the window, pleased to see the sun peaking out behind the clouds. She doubts that it will be a sunny day, but she feels happy knowing the morning after her wedding offers a cheery beginning.

She hears a soft groan from behind her and turns to see John shift in bed, moving his hand towards her side of the bed. She can't help but smile when he frowns slightly upon finding empty sheets, and she smiles fully as he finally opens his eyes.

"Morning, husband," she murmurs, feeling a rush of happiness as her mouth forms the word against her lips.

He seems stunned to see her and for a moment, she remembers John telling her how often he would dream of her, the dreams feeling so real he would not want to wake. She manages to speak again, feeling overwhelmed by the power of his gaze.

"I trust you haven't forgotten you married me yesterday?"

That seems to draw him away from his dream-like gaze, for he shyly smiles, and the sight has her weak.

"I would never forget such an event," he says, but then seems to fully wake up as he slightly frowns. "Margaret, have you been up for some time? Are you in pain at all?"

She blushes, shaking her head. Despite her remembrance of John telling her many times the night before that speaking of their intimacy should be completely normal between them, she fears it may take some time for her to feel that comfort.

"Not at all, just a little sore. Nothing to be concerned about," she moves towards the desk, feeling overcome thinking of last night. It's quickly becoming more difficult to ignore the ache between her legs. It's as if her own body is ordering her to seek a solution to it.

She picks up Plato, turning to John as he shifts up to lean against the headboard. He's not helping her situation at all, exposing his chest to her in such a manner. She recalls just how much attention she had paid that part of his body that night and flushes.

"How many times have you now read this?" She manages to say teasingly, hoping it sounds normal.

She's joking, but her ever logical husband scrunches his brow to think of his answer. "I believe I have only read it through three times. I tend to go back to the passages where you would passionately oppose me in my opinion on the text, I enjoy reliving some of those moments."

"Such a hidden romantic," she laughs lightly, putting the book down and looking back at him. He is serious, looking thoughtfully at her.

"You are wearing my nightgown," he states, although his voice indicates he is curious as to the why.

"Yes, I have found that on my first day as a wife, I wish to be completely with my husband at all times, and if that means stealing his clothes, so be it."

Although being sarcastic, she knows it is a truth in many ways. John seems to sense that too.

"I love you, Margaret."

The playfulness in the room is quickly vanishing as a tension that Margaret is beginning to understand as desire fills the void. She smiles, hoping to stay composed longer than she believes she could.

"And why do you?" Hoping playfulness can stall whatever flush is creeping up her neck and onto her face.

"Because you brought joy into my life when there was none, you challenged me and made me a better man, and above all, because you are the best person I have ever known."

It's the first time he has clearly stated his reasons. In all the excitement since their fateful meeting on the platform, reasons were never stated, only those three words which would never grow old to her. But hearing him declare the why behind his feelings stuns her.

"Oh," she says softly. Although his answer is said in his practical way, there's a roughness in his voice, his eyes falling from hers to drift over her body. She can only stare back in a similar fashion as he finally meets her eyes again.

"Come here," he murmurs, his northern accent thicker and deeper than before and she feels the breath leave her body. The soreness between her legs has changed to a type of throbbing, and it seems to pull her to him.

She slowly crawls back onto the bed, only to gasp as John moves quickly to hover over her.

"I don't believe I have given you a proper good morning greeting," he says, looking down at her in wonder as he brushes her hair through his fingers. She ponders how she survived an entire night with him this close to her.

"And what does a proper good morning greeting involve?" She asks breathlessly.

He doesn't answer. Instead, he brings his lips right to her neck, as if he could not bear waiting a moment longer.

She shutters, as he begins to kiss his way down her neck, paying extra care to the places where she had shown more appreciation for the night before. Cupping his cheek, she guides him back to her lips, kissing him and running her other hand through his hair, loving the low hum it elicits from him.

Slowly, he brings his hand to her breast, cupping her lightly through the nightgown as he draws away from her lips and smirks at her light pout.

"Margaret, can we…is it too soon to ask if we…?"

She says yes with another kiss, feeling the smile against her lips.

Much like before, he kisses her for what feels like hours. She wants to meet his passion as equally as she feels it, but she still cannot silence the loud thoughts inside her mind that order her to silently give whatever her husband wants. How if she shows any pleasure or take any control, her husband will pull away in disgust. Shifting slightly, she can feel the silky wetness of her need for him against her legs and debates whether or not she should still feel disgusted by it.

She is fighting these thoughts, when he moves his hand down to the hem of the nightgown and pulls away to look at her, his eyes darkened from need, a contemplative look on his face.

"Can I try something?"

She nods, clueless to what he is thinking, but trusting him completely.

He shifts his body down, lifting the nightgown up to her chest so he can kiss her lightly on the stomach. "I ought to let you wear my nightgowns more often…you wear my clothes much better than I do."

She highly doubts that.

His hand comes her thigh, pushing it lightly to spread her legs. Despite knowing he has now seen every inch of her, she can't help but still blush fiercely as he looks down at where he makes her his.

"One day you'll accept that I adore every single part of you, Margaret," John teases lightly, looking up at her with such adoration, she can hardly give a proper response.

"Well, what was it you wanted to try?" Her voice comes out breathier that she'd like, almost gasping as he spreads her legs a bit wider. She's gaining an idea of what is about to happen but can't seem to accept that he will do it.

She brings herself to look down at him, only to watch in shock as her husband brings his entire face down to her sex.

"This," he says huskily, and kisses her.

She gasps out, the feeling of his mouth against her soaked lower lips stirring a new sensation within her body. It's equally mortifying and pleasurable.

Struggling to without her cries as he explores this new assault on her, she manages to ask, "And what exactly is this?"

"I told you last night I planned to kiss every part of you, and I am now fulfilling that promise," he says in such a business-like manner, she can't help but let out a breathy laugh in response. Suddenly, his kisses deepen, the feeling of his tongue now stroking her, and her laugh turns to a high-pitched whine.

She manages to thread her fingers deeply into his hair and her legs appear to have spread wider off their own accord to accommodate his head. The throbbing between her legs is so intense, it's bordering on painful, but John does not seem to notice, intent on kissing her like he's feasting.

When her whimpers and whines are bordering on louder, more embarrassing cries, she attempts to speak.

"John…John, I don't know how much more – " She's cut off with a sudden cry as John presses his tongue down on the bud at the top of her sex, sending an intense vibration throughout her entire being. For the first time since he's begun his mission, he looks up at her, eyes almost black but determined. She's trying to imagine what he sees…probably a half-crazed looking woman with hair so wild she could pass as a witch.

She keeps her eyes locked on his for only a second before, out of pure agony, she brings her foot up against his back and tries to shove him down again. Almost rolling her eyes at his answering smirk, she watches in painful anticipation as he brings his hand up to her sex.

The rush of her release only seconds later is exquisite. With only a few careful strokes of his thumb against her, she's closing her eyes, arching and gripping the sheets as she finally feels pleasure and relief course through her body. Her cry is much louder than she anticipates, followed by a series of gasps as her body rides out the waves. Any embarrassment she may feel disappears when she looks down to John, seeing the pride and desire manifested in his eyes as he touches become softer and softer against her. She realizes he gave her release with his hand so that he could watch her, and she wonders if she could possible love and want him more.

Tiredly, she reaches out her hand to him. When he takes it, she brings him up to her and kisses him softly, tasting something against his lips that she shockingly realizes is her.

"I didn't…I didn't know it could be like that," she whispers against his lips. He pulls back to look at her and perhaps it's her love for him or how tired she feels, but she continues to speak, needing to say her thoughts aloud.

"I always thought this...what just happened would be a painful duty for me. Even after we became engaged, I worried so much about it. I had hoped that, because we loved each other, it may be less painful. But I never imagined _this_."

He only listens to her as she speaks, but as soon as she finishes, he kisses her again and brings his hand to brush against the scar hidden on her temple.

"I wish this to never be a duty for you, Margaret. Every time we have each other in this bed, I want you to wish it as much as I do."

She smiles softly. "After what you just did, I imagine I will never think of this as a duty again."

He replies with a kiss, and they spend the morning entwined together, taking turns between speaking and kissing each other like secret lovers. She comes to understand that happiness may not ever be a stranger to her again. 

* * *

I have not written smut in awhile, I hope that was at least decent! Next chapter is going to be in John's perspective!


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